


Runaway Train

by crimsoncomradeposts



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:35:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23461105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsoncomradeposts/pseuds/crimsoncomradeposts
Summary: He meets you on the subway, his tall, muscular frame crowding the door after having just given up his seat for the frail elderly woman who’d just gotten on the car at the last minute. It makes you smile, amusement shining in the look that you give him, to see a man of his stature move so quickly. He sees you then, and he smiles back, an air of playfulness to the expression as his hand grips the nearby metal pole for stability. Your gaze lowers to the book in your hands, the novel still open to where you’d last left off. It takes a moment to find the ending of the paragraph you’d finished, but eventually, you find your place again. The smile’s still there, still faintly hanging on as the corners of your lips curl ever so slightly. When you venture another look, risking a glance in his direction again, you find that he’s still staring. Still smiling.
Relationships: Charlie Barber/Reader, Charlie Barber/You
Comments: 20
Kudos: 187





	1. Happenstance

He meets you on the subway, his tall, muscular frame crowding the door after having just given up his seat for the frail elderly woman who’d just gotten on the car at the last minute. It makes you smile, amusement shining in the look that you give him, to see a man of his stature move so quickly. He sees you then, and he smiles back, an air of playfulness to the expression as his hand grips the nearby metal pole for stability. Your gaze lowers to the book in your hands, the novel still open to where you’d last left off. It takes a moment to find the ending of the paragraph you’d finished, but eventually, you find your place again. The smile’s still there, still faintly hanging on as the corners of your lips curl ever so slightly. When you venture another look, risking a glance in his direction again, you find that he’s still staring. Still smiling.

And your smile grows just that much more.

— — — — —

You note that he gets off one stop before you, and you can’t help but wonder just where it is he’s going. You allow your mind to wander, thinking up various scenarios for all the things he could be doing. Is this the stop that he gets off in order to go home, and if so, is the home empty or does he return to a family? If not home, then where? You imagine some large boardroom, floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city, where he’s holding a meeting — but perhaps that scenario’s been crafted thanks to one too many romance novels you’d been reading as of late, much like the one you’d been reading on the train.

— — — — —

In a city of roughly eight and a half million people, you don’t ever expect to see him again. But that doesn’t stop you from looking. You seek him out each time you board the train, eyes scanning the sea of faces for the one that would stand out. You’ve only seen him the once, thus far, but you’ve already committed him to memory; his angular features smattered with moles and the lightest dusting of freckles, hair in desperate need of a cut, and yet something in that gut of yours tells you that it’s that length for a reason — you just haven’t been around him long enough to figure out why.

You go on like this for days, thinking of him, of those dark eyes and pouty lips that just begged you to kiss them. But days turn into weeks, and soon enough, all thoughts of him have begun to wane from your mind, replaced by more mundane every day things.

It’s late when you leave the office, night having already blanketed the city by the time you arrive to the subway station. Standing on the platform, feet positioned just at the edge of the yellow cautionary line, you notice movement out of your peripheral. Your head turns to the right to glance over, nearly doing a double take when you spot the source. There, just feet away, stands the man you’d seen on the train weeks ago. His head lifts, and his eyes widen with the look of realization when his gaze lands on you, and it has you wondering if your expression is mirroring his. The surprised expression he donned a moment ago melts away into an earnest smile, one that you’re happy to return.

When the train pulls up into the station, you step aside to allow any commuters off before entering the nearly empty car, taking a seat towards the center of the narrow cabin. Your gaze shifts to watch his towering form enter from one of the other entry points, his steps taking him to the seat directly across from you. He smiles again, and this time you finally notice the dimples that crease his cheeks.

“No book today,” he asks, and for a moment, you say nothing.

Book? What book? And then it hits you, that familiar feeling of realization. He’d remembered that you were in the midst of reading one of your many novels on the train the last time you’d seen each other. The thought makes you smile, your head shaking from side to side in silent response.

“Oh, it’s here,” you reply, your hand moving to pat the purse that’s seated beside you. The book is small enough to be tucked away in one of the purse’s large compartments.

He hums in response, his head nodding slowly, and it’s then that you drop a glance down to the hands that rest atop his thighs. _No wedding ring_ , you think to yourself, pleased at the discovery — or lack thereof.

The two of you fall into a comfortable conversation, topics ranging from every day things like careers — you’ve discovered that he’s a successful theater direct who’s currently on the hunt for his next big play, and he seems **very** interested in your own line of work — to hobbies. Charlie — as you’ve come to find out is his name — doesn’t have much time to dedicate to many hobbies thanks to his line of work, however, he does enlighten you with the fact that he enjoys a good karaoke every now and again.

Before long, the train pulls into yet another station, and you recognize that this is the same station that Charlie had gotten off the last time you’d run into each other. “This is me,” he says, grasping onto one of the nearby metal poles to pull himself up onto his feet. “Thanks for keeping me company on what would otherwise be a very boring ride.” There’s amusement in his voice, and you’re sure that the smile you give him is radiating with the same emotion.

You’re not sure where the sudden boldness comes from, but as he moves towards the doors, waiting for them to open, you stand up also. “Would you maybe want to exchange numbers,” you ask, a hint of hopefulness in your voice. He turns to you, and you shrug a shoulder as if to say _what’s the harm_. “In case you ever want to talk somewhere other than on the subway.”

That makes him smile, his teeth showing this time as he chuckles, and you can’t help but admire the way that he looks even more so in this moment. The way that his eyes crinkle at the corners, the dimples that make an appearance and the teeth that are slightly spaced and crooked in various places, every little detail in this moment comes together to somehow make him look younger, more carefree. You like seeing him like this, you decide. You’re hoping to see it more often.

Charlie nods and moves a hand into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out his phone and unlocking the screen before handing it over to you. Quickly, not wanting to hold him up more than you already have, you type in your name and number into his contacts before handing the phone back to him. You do the same, giving him your phone so he can enter his information, and once your phone is back in the safety of your hand, he utters his goodbye and steps out of the train.

Dropping back down into your seat with one more stop to go before you make your own departure, you study the still illuminated screen in your palm. His name is glaring up at you with large, bold text: **Charlie Barber.**

As you smile down at the screen, a small bubbled notification pops up at the top of the screen, alerting you to an incoming text from none other than the man who’d been on the train with you moments prior. Pressing the notification, you’re taken to your texts, your smile growing that much wider when you read it.

_Coffee tomorrow?_


	2. Apropos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind. It’s the first word that pops into your mind when you watch him. He’s so kind with everyone, and he makes it all look so effortless; exchanging smiles and laughs with those around him, like friends he’s known for years. But you’d felt that way too, hadn’t you? Your sure of it. He’d made you feel so at ease in the subway, talking about everything and nothing at all, and yet it was like speaking with an old friend.

It’s early. So much earlier than you’re used to waking up, and if this were any other day — if you were planning for anything other than this — then you’d still be in bed grumbling and complaining, spending every precious last second in the warmth of your covers. But this is no ordinary day.

You’re standing in front of the full length mirror that’s propped up against the wall directly opposite your bed, caught between two equally nice outfits. In one hand you hold a soft yellow blouse that would pair beautifully with the sepia pencil skirt that you hold in the same hand. In your other hand is a fuchsia sheath dress, complete with laced capped sleeves. It shouldn’t take you this long to make a decision, and normally it doesn’t, but there’s an air of apprehension in your decision making this morning. For once it’s not just you that you’re considering when you make your decision. Finally opting to go with the fuchsia dress, you slip on a pair of navy pumps and make your way out of your apartment to join the masses that are already up before dawn.

He’s already there by the time that you arrive, looking much more awake than you feel. That smile that you’ve grown to love so quickly stretches his face and puts his dimples proudly on display as he rises up from one of the nearby tables when you step inside the small coffee shop.

He’s dressed in a similar outfit as when you’d last seen him: navy slacks, a white button down this time, and a black cardigan. He looks so well put together and even still, it comes across as so casual that you can’t help but feel a tad overdressed.

“Hi,” you say as you near him, mirroring his smile with one of your own. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

There’s an immediate shake of his head, a hand lifting from his pocket to wave away the concern. “You didn’t. I got here early, wanted to make sure we got a seat before the teleworkers took over.” A chuckle follows his statement, the sound drawing out another smile from you, a hum of amusement sounding from the depths of your throat as he leads you to the table he’d claimed for the two of you. “Can I get you something to drink,” he asks, quickly following up the question, “it’s my treat.”

With a polite nod, you give him your order just as you take a seat in one of the chairs, purse settling into the chair beside yours. He turns then, leaving you alone just long enough to make his way to the counter to place your order and his as well. You can’t help but notice the way he towers over just about everyone. Even the barista behind the cash register has to tilt her head just to look up at him. It’s a thought that makes you smile to yourself as you watch their interaction.

Kind. It’s the first word that pops into your mind when you watch him. He’s so kind with everyone, and he makes it all look so _effortless_ ; exchanging smiles and laughs with those around him, like friends he’s known for years. But you’d felt that way too, hadn’t you? Your sure of it. He’d made you feel so at ease in the subway, talking about everything and nothing at all, and yet it was like speaking with an old friend.

It isn’t long after that he’s returning to the table with drinks in hand. He’s careful to slide your cup over to you, ensuring that he does so at a pace that doesn’t slosh out the contents onto the table. Offering your thanks, you reach for the cup, fingers grazing his when you do so — and, God, if that feeling isn’t just _electric_. His fingers are smooth against your own, and you can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like on other parts of your body. The thought makes you shift in your seat, cheeks tinting a faint rosy hue.

As he settles into his own seat, your hands wrap around the ceramic mug, taking in the warmth that radiates out into your palms. “I’m working on a new play,” he says, breaking the silence that’s befallen the two of you.

“Oh?” Lifting the mug to your lips, you take a small sip, relishing in the heat that glides down your throat and to your stomach. This is the first time you’d been to this particular coffee shop, but the taste of the coffee and cream mixture he’d so kindly purchased for you is divine. You silently resolve to come here more often. “What’s it about,” you ask with piqued interest.

He smiles, eyes crinkling and cheeks dimpling with the widened expression, happy to be asked about it with such obvious interest. The last time he’d mentioned a new idea of his to Nicole she’d brushed him off, given him a quick hum of acknowledgement that he’d said anything at all and went right back to flipping the pages of her magazine. She hadn’t even had the good sense to look at him. But _you_ , you’re looking at him now, and his heart swells with the realization that you actually _want_ to hear what he has to say.

“Uh, w-well,” he says, stammering over his words, hands dwarfing the mug in front of him when the move to encircle it. “I-it’s about loss and what comes after.”

Slowly, you lift the mug to your lips, taking a thoughtful sip as you look at him from across the table. Only when you lower the cup back down to the table, do you speak again. “So a play about grief then,” you muse.

Charlie’s head shakes, his actions mirroring your own. He takes a long sip of his coffee, black in stark contrast to your own which has been lightened considerably thanks to the addition of the cream. “Love,” he counters once his own mug has been lowered.

The corners of your mouth curl up into a faint smile, a finger tapping gently against the side of your cup. “Love in a time of loss. How apropos.”

And it is, isn’t it? He certainly thinks so. He’d been so deep into mourning the dissolution of his marriage and of his family unit that the last thing he’d been looking for was some sort of connection with anyone else. But then there you were, peering up from some cheesy romance novel that he couldn’t name if you paid him all the money in the world, but recognized thanks to the overly cliched cover. He’d been stuck with that image of you in his mind for weeks, tortured with it, even, when he’d finally admitted to himself that he’d never find you again among the crowded platforms of the subway stations. But fate had other plans for him, it would have seemed, because there you were again with your friendly smile and easy conversation. _His muse_ , even if he wouldn’t dare to admit such a thing just yet.

How apropos indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot express how elated I am with the response that I received after posting the first chapter. You’re all so kind, I appreciate you all so much, and even more so for actually wanting to read and be tagged when new chapters come out. Please enjoy Chapter 2!


	3. Serenade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next time that you see Charlie, it’s five days later. The two of you had come to find out rather quickly that your work schedules didn’t match up in a way that was conducive to you spending your free time together. But where most other people would accept it and move on, the both of you were keen to make this — whatever this is — work one way or another.

The next time that you see Charlie, it’s five days later. The two of you had come to find out rather quickly that your work schedules didn’t match up in a way that was conducive to you spending your free time together. But where most other people would accept it and move on, the both of you were keen to make this — whatever this is — work one way or another.

“You made it.” The deep, familiar voice emerges from behind you, causing you to pivot on the balls of your feet to turn around to face the other direction. Charlie’s standing in front of you now, one hand tucked deep into his pocket, the other hanging loosely at his side. You’re dressed a little more casually than when Charlie had last seen you, but he likes you like this too. To him, you’re a vision in anything you wear, and he feels his heart thump a little faster in that chest of his when you smile up at him.

You head nods, smile still in place. “I told you I would.” He knew that, of course. You’d said as much whenever he first invited you out, but even still, he’s looking down at you with those kind eyes and kinder smile, mystified that you’re truly here with him. The corners of his eyes crinkle when his smile widens just a little more as your head nods towards the door. “Shall we?”

Snapping out of his own thoughts, he gives a nod of his head as he moves to open the door to the restaurant, holding it open and motioning with a wave of his hand for you to go ahead in first.

It’s a warm, cozy space, wood covering every square inch and a stage centered at the back of the restaurant. A large, warm hand settles onto the small of your back when Charlie steps up beside you, his other hand reaching out to point in the direction of where you’re headed, soon waving to a small group in a corner booth near the stage. You give a nervous wave and smile to those who wave back to both you and Charlie just as he begins to guide you past various tables to the one you’ll be seated at. He’s quick to introduce everyone to you, and vice versa, before he delves into his own greetings. Waving with a hand, he motions for you to slide into the booth first. Once you’re nice and settled, he sits beside you, the vinyl covered seat creaking beneath the addition of his weight. 

The conversation that follows your arrival is easy going, and the group that you’re seated with does well to bring you into the fold, making you feel as if you’ve known these people your whole life. Each one of these people has met Charlie through the theater, some of which still work for him.

As the conversation carries on, Charlie’s arm drapes across the back of the seat, his hand dangling just above your shoulder, fingers gently tracing soft, random patterns against the fabric of your shirt. You hadn’t noticed, but ever since he’d started those gentle touches, your body’s begun to instinctively lean in towards his. It isn’t until you feel the heat rolling off him in waves that you realize. But, oh, how he’s noticed, and yet neither of you make a move to part from one another.

That is, until . . .

“Charlie, has your friend here heard you sing yet,” says one of the women at the table, eyeing him with a knowing smirk. Your posture straightens and you turn your head to look at him as he drops his gaze. There’s the slightest pink tinge to his cheeks now, and when you look back to her, your head shakes. “Oh, you’re in for a treat. Our Charlie here has the best voice.”

Oh. _Oh_.

You’d seen the stage, but you hadn’t even stopped to think about what it meant. _Charlie’s going to sing?_

“Karaoke,” he explains, lifting his gaze back to you when you sweep your attention back to him.

“We all do it.” This time, you find the man sitting across from you speaking, a grin lighting up his features. “It’s why we come here a lot. Helps ease the stress of the day, and hey, we’re performers, right? What better way to blow off a little steam and still do what we love?”

You smile at that, and you can feel Charlie relax against you. You don’t fancy yourself much of a singer, but if everyone else is willing to give it a go, then why can’t you? “I’ll try it,” you say with a nonchalant shrug. “I can’t guarantee you won’t beg me to stop, I’ve never claimed to be the best singer.”

That comment garners laughs from everyone at the table, but they’re all quick to reassure you that you’ll be fine. Charlie’s smiling down at you, adoration shining evidently in his eyes. You’re worlds away from Nicole, and though he hates to ever make comparisons, he just can’t help himself in this moment. This a move she never would have dared to make. Though she, herself, is a performer, karaoke was something she’d always been above. But not you. If everyone else is willing to throw themselves into it, then you’ve shown that you will too, and he likes that about you.

“Well, go on then,” says one of the others at the table, shooing towards Charlie with quick flicks of her hand. “You’re up first, you show off.”

He slides his arm away from you, and you can’t help but note the way in which the cool air settles over you where his warmth once was. Rising up from his seat, he braves his way to the stage and taps the mic with a finger, testing it to make sure that it’s one. You watch as he flicks through the various song options on the screen of the karaoke machine beside him, finally landing on one that he deems suitable. He’s never usually nervous for these sorts of things, but he finds that he’s nervous tonight. He’s nervous because you’re there and you’re going to hear him sing for the first time.

Clearing his throat, he grasps the mic stand with his hand gingerly, almost as if he’s afraid he’ll break it if he tightens his hold. As the music begins to play, you can’t help but smile at him, and he smiles back just before inhaling a deep breath, the words to the song beginning to leave him as he sings.

> _Some enchanted evening, when you find your true love,  
>  When you hear her call you across a crowded room,  
> Then fly to her side and make her your own,  
> Or all through your life you may dream all alone. _

His voice is velvet smooth as he sings, his eyes fixated on yours, and just a hint of a smile curling his lips. You can’t help but smile back at him, and for a moment, it’s as if you’re the only two in the room. He’s serenading you, that much is clear, and though you don’t recognize the song that he’s singing, the lyrics are enough to let you know how he’s feeling. It makes your heart skip a beat and your breath hitch, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s feeling the same effects up there on the stage.

It isn’t too long after that that the song ends, and he’s running a still nervous hand through his hair, but you and everyone else at the table are bursting into applause. You hoot and holler to add to the effect, and that only serves to make him grin. It’s a look that you commit to memory.

Once he reaches the booth, he stops short of sitting down and motions for you to get up. “Your turn,” he says, his grin stretching that much wider. Oh, how your nerves kick in then. Slowly, you slide out of the booth and as you move to step past him, he glides his palm along the small of your back — a silent, but reassuring gesture. It does help to calm your nerves, albeit slightly.

Making your way onto the stage, you can’t help but smile as one of the others at your table gives you a thumbs up in support. Taking your time, you flick through the various options on the karaoke machine until you find an old favorite of yours. It’s a song you haven’t heard of in a long time, but one you know will convey your feelings to Charlie as he’d done to you. Stepping up to the mic, your hands grasp the cool metal of the stand, the music flowing as you start to sing.

> _Let me fly you to the moon  
>  My eyes have always followed you around the room  
> 'Cause you're the only god that I will ever need  
> I'm holding on  
> I'm waiting for the moment to find me_

He’s mesmerized by you, by your voice, by the way that you’re watching him as you sing. Practically everyone at the table is blown away by how incredibly good you’re singing is, but it’s Charlie who’s affected the most. You can practically see his adam’s apple bob from the stage, and you can’t help the way that your lips curl upwards into a shy smile, one that he’s all too happy to return.

The rest of your night at the restaurant goes by in a blur. Easy conversation and good food coupled with singing and the occasional drink have made for a much better night than you could have ever anticipated. The small, constant contact of Charlie’s hands haven’t gone unnoticed either.

Saying your goodbyes to the small gathering, the two of you make your way out of the restaurant and back out onto the sidewalk, pausing to face each other once you’re back outside. “I had fun,” you say, being the first to speak, offering him a smile to accompany your words.

Charlie smiles at that, his hands having delved into the pockets of his slacks. “Good. Good, me too.”

There’s an awkward pause, and it’s clear to both of you that neither of you want to part ways.

“Do you, uh—”

“Do you think may—”

Smiling apologetically at one another, you motion to him to carry on with his thought. “You got started first,” you say, huffing out a laugh.

Charlie pulls his hand from his pocket, bringing it up to sweep back his hair with the push of his fingers. “Do you want to come over? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just though maybe . . .”

He trails off, but already, he’s relieved to see that you’re nodding. “Yes,” you say with the smile that he’s already come to love. “I’d love to.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve received some really lovely comments regarding this fic, and it’s really pushed me to want to continue this story, so thank you to everyone who’s reached out and had such nice things to say. I’m glad you’re all enjoying it.


	4. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The walk from the restaurant to Charlie’s apartment hadn’t been a far one, but it left you both with plenty of time to fill with random topics ranging from your singing to his plays and everything in between.

The walk from the restaurant to Charlie’s apartment hadn’t been a far one, but it left you both with plenty of time to fill with random topics ranging from your singing to his plays and everything in between. At some point during the walk, Charlie had even been so bold to reach for your hand, your fingers lacing with his as you walked side by side down the still bustling sidewalk. Only when the two of you reached the door to his apartment did he release his hold on your hand in order to fish out his keys from his pocket.

In no time at all, he’s got the door unlocked and pushed open, waving with a hand for you to step in first. When he tells you to make yourself at home, you do just that, slipping out of your shoes by the entrance, pushing them over towards where he’s got a small row of his own shoes set out on display before stepping further into the home. The apartment is a modest size, you decide as you continue to silently step further into the space, now finding yourself in the living room.

“Nice place,” you say, stating the obvious as you approach the bookcase, eyeing up the various photos that are on display among the books

You can hear him disappear into the kitchen, the squeak of a cupboard’s hinges sounding when he opens one of the doors, clinking glass soon following when he pulls two wine glasses down to rest against the counter. “Thank you,” he calls out to you before following up with: “Can I get you a glass of wine?”

“Sure,” you reply, eyes settling on a photo of Charlie with a young boy who, if you had to guess, would be about eight years old, give or take.

He’s silent for a man of his stature, and if it weren’t for the creak of a nearby floorboard and his reflection in the glass of the framed photo, you would have been none the wiser to his sudden appearance in the room. “That’s Henry,” he says as you turn to face him, reaching to take the glass of wine from him as he extends his arm to present it to you. “My son.” He watches as you nod in your head in understanding, because you do understand, of course. It’s perfectly obvious by the photo that he’s his son. The resemblance is uncanny. “He lives with his mother in California,” he continues, feeling as if he needs to explain further.

You smile at him, and he can feel himself relax just the slightest bit, thankful that the news hadn’t sent you running. “What’s he like,” you ask as you carry your glass over to the sofa to take a seat, Charlie following close behind. Tucking a leg up underneath you, you rest your elbow against the top of the couch, angling your body to face him as he takes a seat beside you.

The question garners a soft laugh from Charlie, who’s eyes are fixated on one of the photos across the space from where he sits. “I last saw him about a week ago,” he admits, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when he speaks. “You know he used to be big into superheroes. Now he’s into dinosaurs.” Charlie’s focus shifts, his head turning to look over at you now, finding you smiling over at him as you nurse your glass of wine. “His interests shift so much, it’s hard to keep up with. Even harder when he’s across the entire country.”

You can see it now, the way that the smile no longer reaches his eyes. There’s a sadness that hadn’t been there a moment prior. He misses his son, that much is abundantly clear. You lean over and set your glass down onto one of the coasters atop the coffee table, your hand now moving to rest on his bicep when you sit back against the couch again. No words are exchanged as you gently caress his arm with a reassuring touch, a touch that lets him know that you’re here for him, that everything will be alright even though it might not feel like it at the moment.

Charlie leans forward to set his own glass down before turning his head to look back over to you. A small portion of his hair falls away from the rest to graze along the right half of his forehead, and you just can’t help yourself as you lift your hand away from his arm to brush the strand back into place with your fingers. While you fuss with his hair, his right arm moves to slip between you and the couch, his hand settling against your lower back just as you instinctively move closer to him. Such ordinary touches, and yet to the two of you they’re both so intimate. Charlie’s eyes lift to take in your face as your hand comes down to rest onto his shoulder, your own gaze dropping to his as you smile at him.

“Hi,” you say softly, the word spoken barely above a whisper. Charlie can’t help but smile at the sound.

“Hi,” he whispers back, taking in the way that you pull your bottom lip between your teeth.

The palm of his hand presses gently against your back, inching you closer to him until your leg swings over across his own to straddle his hips. Both of his hands now reach for your hips, thumbs caressing the space above your hipbone as your own lift to rest against the side of his neck. He tilts his head up just enough to get a better look at your face, lips parting ever so slightly in anticipation as your mouth lowers towards his. At the last moment, you redirect the movement of your face, the tip of your nose gently nudging against his own in a tender move. Charlie further upright on the couch, one hand moving to press a palm to your lower back, scooting your hips closer to his own while the other hand glides upward along your spine until he’s cupping the nape of your neck. With a firm pull of the hand at your neck, he guides your lips down towards his, finally stealing the kiss that he’d waited so long for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter of a chapter this time around, unfortunately. But it'll all be worth it when the next chapter rolls out!


	5. Sated

Charle’s lips are . . .  _ soft _ . So much softer than you could have ever anticipated. The realization causes you to smile into the kiss, which garners the same reaction from Charlie. “What is it,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to open his eyes and look at you as your head shakes from side to side.

“Nothing,” you whisper in reply. You’re still smiling when you respond, already leaning back in towards him for another kiss.

He’s all too happy to oblige, his hand slipping around from the nape of your neck to rest against the side of it, his thumb gliding along the edge of your jaw as your mouth meets his again. Charlie sweeps his tongue along your bottom lip, seeking entry just as your hand lifts away from his neck to thread your fingers into his hair. The moment that your lips part, his tongue delves into your mouth to glide along yours, the hand splayed across your lower back pressing you closer still. As your lips slant across his, tongues dueling for dominance, your hands begin to slowly undo each button of Charlie’s dress shirt. Without so much as a warning, he stands, the hand at your face slipping away to palm your ass, keeping you anchored to him whilst he takes steps away from the couch.

The walk from the living room is a short one given Charlie’s long, overeager strides, and before you know it, the door to his bedroom is being nudged open with his foot just before he carries you inside. Carefully, he rests you back against the soft duvet that covers the expanse of his bed, his body looming over yours as his lips continue to move against yours. Your fingers grasp the hem of the sweater he wears, tugging it upwards and breaking the kiss just long enough to remove it from him, revealing the dress shirt underneath. His lips return to yours as your hands move to pop open each button of the shirt. You tug on the material, pulling the ends of the shirt from where it’s tucked into his pants, unbuttoning the remaining buttons until the shirt falls open to reveal a tank top beneath.

“Christ,” you breathe into the kiss, “I think you’re wearing enough layers for the both of us.” Charlie can’t help but laugh at your teasing remark, gifting you a chaste kiss before pulling back away from you to slip out of the dress shirt, discarding it on the floor before doing the same with the undershirt. Now that he’s finally rid himself of the remaining shirts, you take a moment to take in the sight of him. He appears to be so much broader now sans shirts, and as he leans over towards you again, you’re able to catch glimpses of the smattering of moles and freckles that run across his torso.

Charlie takes his time undressing you, removing each item of clothing slowly while he savors each bit of exposed skin with a multitude of kisses, occasionally nipping the more sensitive areas to elicit soft gasps from you. He pulls away briefly, the move causing you to whimper in protest, and he can’t help but smirk at the sound. You watch quietly as he undoes his belt and slacks, slipping them down his legs, kicking off the material to leave him in only his boxers. His thumbs hook into the waistband of the plain fabric, and when he pushes it down as well, you can feel your breath hitching in your throat when his cock is finally revealed to you. Of course you’d imagined that he would be well endowed, but to find out that you’d certainly been right . . . Your thighs press together and that alone causes the corners of Charlie’s mouth to hitch up higher in self-satisfaction.

His hands reach for your knees, parting your thighs until he’s able to climb back onto the bed with you, settling himself between your legs as his lips meet yours once more. Resting his weight on his left forearm, his right hand trails down along your body until it reaches its destination at the apex of your thighs, fingers teasing along already slick folds. He swallows the gasp that leaves your lips, his own covering yours while he eases a finger into you. Instinctively, your hands reach for his arms, fingers curling around his biceps to keep yourself anchored to him whilst he slips a second finger into you, groaning softly against your mouth when he feels you flutter around both fingers. You move eagerly against him, hips rocking in search of more friction. Taking the cue, he curls his fingers within you, fingertips stroking against the softness of you, coaxing you to open up further for him. A series of soft gasps and moans escapes you the moment that his thumb moves to circle your clit, applying just enough pressure until you’re clenching around him.

You sigh at the loss of his fingers when he finally removes them, and you find yourself clenching around absolutely nothing while your gaze fixates on his hand as it moves to grip his cock, coating himself in your slick. Charlie bows his head, his eyes settling on his cock as the head is enveloped in your warmth. He groans, and fuck, if you don’t just want to bottle up that sound so you can listen to it forever. The thought, coupled with the feeling of him beginning to press into you, causes a familiar heat to pool into your lower belly, your cunt fluttering around him yet again. His jaw clenches at the feeling, muscles ticking visibly with restraint as he slowly pushes further into you, allowing you the time you need to adjust to him.

Charlie’s movements are slow at first, wanting nothing more than to relish in the moment with you, but soon enough, the sound of skin slapping into skin fill the room, along with moans, groans, and the occasional sigh. His free hand grips your leg, lifting it up to hitch over his hip, the new angle allowing him to push deeper still, your back arching at the sensation. His lips are relentless; they suck and kiss at every reachable space of skin, and when he reaches your clavicle, your hands lift to card your fingers through his hair, fingers grasping at the soft strands.

“Charlie.” His name is accompanied with a gasp when he thrusts harder, the flexing of his hips becoming erratic. “I’m —  oh, fuck, Charlie, I’m so  _ close _ !” His head lifts then, eyes watching your face as the hand at your hip glides around to slip between the two of you, thumb once more rubbing against your clit to help bring you to your release. It isn’t long until you’re coming undone beneath him, cunt clenching around his cock as you cry out for him, hands dropping to his shoulders and hips rocking up against the movement of his thumb. Charlie follows close behind, cumming with a shout, your name falling from his lips like a prayer while his hips still.

When your leg lowers to the mattress, Charlie brings his hand up to cup your cheek and you lean into his touch, eyelids fluttering closed momentarily before you peer up at him. The two of you smile at one another, the sounds of your panted breaths now the only noise filling the room just before Charlie leans down to kiss you. The action is tender, and when coupled with the gentle touch to your face, dare you say loving?

Charlie pulls away, easing out of you before rolling over to lie beside you, one arm outstretching towards you to pull you over to him. You happily oblige, rolling over to lie on your side, resting against him with an arm slung across his torso while the two of you continue to catch your respective breaths. You have no intention of falling asleep, but the second that your eyes close, you fall into a blissful slumber. His head turns to look to you when he feels your body slump against his, and Charlie can’t help but smile, lips pressing to the crown of your head to deliver a gentle kiss. It isn’t too long after that he, too, falls asleep, sated and happy for the first time in a long, long time.


	6. Halcyon

Morning light filters into the room through the slats of the blinds covering the bedroom’s single window, the rays streaking across your face causing you to groan in protest. The sheets rustle as you roll away from the sunlight in search of something (or someone) to hide your face away from the brightness. But when you turn over, arm extended outward in preparation to hold yourself against Charlie’s large frame, you’re met with nothing but cold sheets. Eyelids flutter open to reveal an otherwise empty bed, and with a sigh, you roll yourself over onto your back before sitting up, ensuring to keep yourself covered by the thin veil of the sheet.

You take a moment to listen for any signs of Charlie, and when you don’t hear anything, you slip out of bed and move to the pile of clothes that had been deposited onto the floor the night before. Snatching up Charlie’s dress shirt, you slip it on and button it up, hugging the material to you for a moment and breathing in his comforting scent before you make your exit out into the hallway. “Charlie?” Lifting a hand up, you rub your eye to rid yourself of the grogginess that still clings on for dear life, wanting nothing more than to drag you back into a peaceful slumber.

He hears the door open, the creak of the hinge he swore a million times he’d fix sounds to alert him to the fact that you’re awake just before he hears you call for him. “Kitchen,” he responds just as he pulls open the fridge to fish out the package of bacon and carton of eggs.

Bare feet carry you forward through the small, narrow hallway until you’re greeted by the sight of Charlie in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, hastily working his way around the kitchen to grab various pans and cooking utensils. You move to lean against the wall, arms folding across your chest as you take in the way his muscles ripple beneath the skin with each movement. When you shift your weight, the floorboard beneath your left foot creaks, alerting Charlie to your presence nearby. He turns to face you with spatula in hand, and you greet him with a smile, noting the way that his eyes darken almost immediately when he spots you in his crumpled shirt.

“Morning,” he says. “You look—”

“Tired?” You laugh softly, watching as his head shakes in response, tousled hair shaking gently with the motion.

The left corner of his mouth ticks upward into a half-smirk. “Not the word I was going to use.”

Charlie’s attention remains on you when you step away from the wall in order to move closer to him, and once you’re near enough, he holds his arm out for you to cozy up to him. You do, of course, your arms wrapping around his middle, cheek now pressed up against his bare chest as your head tucks itself beneath his chin. You can feel the gentle vibrations that emanate from deep within Charlie’s chest when he hums, head dipping down to deposit a kiss to the crown of your head. “This looks good on you,” he says, his free hand plucking at the wrinkled dress shirt you’re wearing.

He can feel the smile that stretches across your face when you turn your head to press a few small kisses along his collarbone. “Yeah? Think I might keep it,” you tease.

Charlie chuckles, his hand dropping down to give your ass a quick pat just before releasing his hold on you. “There’s orange and apple juice in the fridge if you want to help yourself. I was thinking eggs and bacon for breakfast?”

When your arms fall away from his torso, you take a step back and make your way over to the fridge to retrieve one of the juice bottles. Charlie turns his head to look over at you just as you peek out from behind the fridge’s door and give him a nod and a smile, signalling that his choice is a good one. He can’t help but think in this moment just how good you look here in his apartment. It’s only been one night, and he finds himself already wishing for more; more of you, more of this, whatever this is blossoming into.

He likes this.

He hasn’t liked anything like this in a long, long time.

Maybe ever, he thinks.

Breakfast with you is easy, like most things, he finds. The two of you eat in relative silence, occasionally filling the void with discussions of your upcoming day, what you have planned and the like. It’s mundane, it should be boring, but it’s not. Not to Charlie, and certainly not to you.

You find out that Charlie has a meeting to attend in the morning, followed up with rehearsals at the theater in the afternoon, and when he discovers that you have a large break in your day between your own meetings and a dinner party to attend, he invites you to join him at rehearsals. Any excuse to see you, after all.

He lifts his cup of juice to his mouth, watching you from over the rim of the glass while you smile and dab at the corner of your mouth with your napkin. “Are you sure,” you ask, an inquisitive brow lifting upward. “I don’t want to impose and throw things off.”

Charlie huffs into the glass, the juice rippling from the expelled breath just before he sets it down onto the table. “I want you there. Gives me a chance to introduce you to everyone you haven’t met yet.”

A warm smile curls your lips upward, and you nod in response. “Yeah, okay. If you’re sure, then yeah, I don’t see why I couldn’t stop by.” He smiles at you then, and you’re more than happy to return the expression, pleased to know that he’s looking forward to your visit every bit as much as you are.

\--------------------------------------------

Charlie had made sure to text you the address of where the rehearsals would be taking place not long after you’d left his apartment earlier in the morning, and by early afternoon, you’d wrapped up your meetings and had taken the train to the appropriate stop. You’re early, but you’d rather be so than late. Quickly, you make your way up the stone steps that lead to the building’s entrance, pulling open the large door to step inside. The elevators are situated mere steps away, but you opt to take the stairs instead given that the rehearsals are only up on the fourth floor. Pivoting on the balls of your feet, you make your way to the stairwell, pushing your way past the door and beginning your trek upwards.

As you climb the first set of stairs, stepping onto the landing that leads to the second floor, you can hear the faint sound of what appears to be an angry discussion. The heated words sink down through the open stairwell, though you’re still too far away to hear what’s being said. It isn’t until you reach the third floor that it becomes clear to you that the voice you’re hearing is Charlie’s, and though you can’t grasp the overarching nature of the conversation, you can tell by the last few words you’d managed to catch that it must be with Henry’s mother.

“You really think _now’s_ a good time? Yes. Yes, I’m aware of the custody agreement, Nicole.” There’s an exasperated sigh that huffs out from above, and your steps slow, wanting to give Charlie more time to finish his discussion before you make your appearance. “A week! All I’m asking for is for you to give me one more week, is that so hard?!” The soles of his shoes scuff against the concrete, and though you try so hard to move slowly, you find yourself near the top of the stairs, almost on the landing. You hesitate, a hand reaching out to grasp the railing while you watch him pace, listening as the woman on the other end of the line—Nicole—fires back with some unintelligible response.

Charlie turns, his steps halting immediately when his eyes find yours. This is not at all how he wanted this day to go. He didn’t want this, didn’t want you to stumble upon him when he’s in the middle of a heated discussion with his ex-wife, but here you are. His arm stretches outward, free hand reaching for you to signal that he wants you here even if it means putting this ugliness on display for you. Without hesitation, you go to him, taking the last two steps up onto the landing and crossing the concrete to get to him. Your arms wrap around his middle, cheek resting against the soft sweater that covers the expanse of his chest, and immediately, his arm wraps around you, holding you close like you’re the only thing in this world that can comfort him in this very moment.

Which you are, he realizes.

You can hear her then, prattling on about commitments and needing him to ‘step up’ and ‘do the right thing’. There’s a low grumble that emanates from deep within his chest, the sound vibrating and rattling around his rib-cage so much so that you can feel it against your cheek.

It’s a losing battle, fighting with her. He knows that, of course he does. He’s known that the second she hired that goddamn divorce attorney. But thank God that fiasco is over and done with, he thinks. Exhaling a heavy sigh, his hand running up and down along the length of your spine, he caves. “Fine. Send me the details and I’ll shuffle things around.”

Nicole offers a goodbye, but Charlie does nothing to reciprocate it. Instead, he simply hangs up and shoves the device into his back pocket, mumbling incoherently to himself when he does so. “Are you okay,” you ask, pulling back just enough to look up at him.

Both arms wrap around you now, not wanting to let you stray too far away from him when you move back, his head nodding in response. “I’m fine. I’m guessing you picked up on who that was.” You nod in return, and again his hand strokes along your back. “Henry’s coming to visit. I was hoping she’d give me one more week to get things in order for the play, but…”

“But she’s being difficult,” you say, finishing his sentence for him.

He can’t help but chuckle at that, his head once again bobbing up and down in a nod. “Something like that.”

You step back from him, hands catching his when he drops them down and away from your back, still looking up at him when you speak. “Look at it this way, it’ll be some nice bonding time. How long is he here for?”

“Two weeks.” He gives your hands a little tug then, drawing you closer to him and pulling soft laughter from you in doing so.

“So he’ll be here for Thanksgiving then,” you remark, the realization suddenly dawning on Charlie. He sucks his lips in and then pouts them out before expelling a puff of air. Ah, you realize, so no plans then. Not that you would have expected them to, considering he’d only found out about Henry’s visit just now. “Hey.” Your hand lets go of one of his to run gently upwards along his chest. “Listen, you’ll figure something out, you’ve still got a week and a half, and if you need help I’m chalk full of ideas.” Charlie’s pout dissipates then, and you smile up at him reassuringly. “ _And_ ,” you follow, your index finger now plucking absentmindedly at one of the buttons of the dress shirt that peeks out from beneath the collar of his sweater, “if you need some help and you can’t get away from the theater, I’ll gladly volunteer my babysitting services.”

He opens his mouth to make his reply, but you’re quick to cut him off to amend your statement. “I’m not asking that you introduce me as anything more.” Hell, you’re not even sure what you two are just yet, let alone have the nerve to set such expectations. “I’m just saying, if you need the help, I’m here for you.”

Charlie’s features soften, eyes crinkling at the corners as a smile makes an appearance. “Thank you,” he murmurs just as he bends down, lips meeting yours in a tender kiss.

You hum against him, and his tongue sweeps across your bottom lip, seeking entry to deepen the kiss. There’s no hesitation when your lips part, his tongue delving into your mouth to glide along your own. The kiss lasts mere seconds, but the sheer passion of it leaves you breathless when he finally forces himself to pull away. “Come on,” he says, taking your hand in his, “let’s introduce you to everyone.”


	7. Micropachycephalosaurus

The intercom overhead sounds, alerting the passengers of a flight in one of the terminals that it’s the final boarding call. Nearby, baggage carts whirl ‘round and ‘round, various pieces of luggage spinning slowly, waiting for their respective owners to come and claim them. Your hand is held firmly in Charlie’s, your head tipped up just slightly as you look to the overhead screen above, eyes scanning it for Henry’s flight information. “Oh, there,” you exclaim, free hand lifting to point an index finger at the screen. “Third one from the bottom.”

_ Arrival Time City Airline Status _

_ 11:24 AM Los Angeles Delta Airlines 5002 Arrived _

Charlie gives your hand a gentle squeeze, reassuring himself. He hadn’t seen Henry in months thanks to Nicole having taken him to California, and a large part of him is afraid that Henry won’t enjoy his time here even though New York City’s the only home he’s come to know prior to the dissolution of Charlie and Nicole’s marriage.

“It’ll be okay.”

Your words break through the thoughts that fog his mind like sunshine in a dark place, giving him all the hope that he needs to steel himself for his son’s arrival. Charlie nods, simultaneously inhaling a breath as his head turns so he can look over at you. A small smile graces your features and this time it’s you who gives his hand a squeeze. How had he ever made it through without you, he wonders. He leans over and you take the cue easily, head angling just so to give him the best possible access to your lips so he can deposit a quick kiss onto them.

“Dad! Dad!” Henry’s cry for Charlie causes the two of you to separate immediately, your hands and lips both leaving one another in rapid time.

Opting to hang back while Charlie steps forward to meet Henry, you watch the scene unfold before you with a smile. Henry all but leaps into his dad’s arms just as Charlie bends down to open his arms up for a hug. The two embrace in the middle of baggage claim, the warm welcome by his son easing Charlie’s fears about how this time together would go. When Henry pulls back, Charlie ruffles his hair, eliciting a playful scoff from his son, Henry’s head shaking to put his hair back into place. You can’t help but smile a little wider at that. Like father, like son, you think to yourself.

They’re a little too far away for you to hear what’s being said, but you can see that Henry’s looking over Charlie’s shoulder to where you stand, wide eyes taking you in before his gaze is redirected back to his father. There’s a moment of apprehension at that, and you wonder what’s being said. What exactly has Charlie told him about you? When Henry looks back to you again, Charlie now glancing over his shoulder at you, you offer them both a smile and a brief wave, to which Henry hesitantly returns.

It’s not an unfriendly gesture by any stretch of the imagination, but perhaps wary, you think. Not that you can blame him, of course. You are a stranger to him, after all.

Charlie flashes a smile in your direction before turning back to his son, finishing up their conversation just prior to him standing up to his full height. He takes Henry’s hand in his own and leads him away from the security area and over to where you stand, finally introducing the two of you to one another. Charlie can feel his heart hammering in his chest, wanting nothing more than for this to go well. Henry extends his hand forward and you do the same, shaking his in greeting as you both exchange your hellos and how do you dos. The apprehension is there, you can feel it as palpable as ever, though you know it must be hard on him, meeting someone new like this. Pushing the thought to the back of your mind, you opt to break the ice while the three of you stride alongside one another towards the appropriate baggage carousel.

“So, Henry, your dad told me on the way over here that you’re into dinosaurs?”

Henry nods emphatically, his face lighting up as his eyes widen and a broad grin stretches across practically from ear to ear. “I do! Did you know that the dinosaur with the longest name is the Micro — Micropach — pach — pach — y…”

You can see it, the way his face contorts in frustration at his inability to grasp the pronunciation of the name he’s got in his mind, the smile vanishing to form a scowl, brows creased in the same manner that Charlie’s does.

“Micropachycephalosaurus, right?” Both Henry and Charlie pause, their steps faltering in unison as they collectively gawk with lips parted and eyes wide.

“You  _ know _ that,” Henry asks, the surprise evident in his voice.

“Well,” you start, a shoulder shrugging slightly while the three of you continue walking, “to be fair I only just found out yesterday. When your dad told me that you liked dinosaurs I wanted to read up a bit, get a little more knowledge than I already had.”

Charlie’s heart thumps wildly against his rib cage at the admission. He’d told you about Henry’s interests because you’d asked about him, but never did he expect you to go out of your way like this. He’s so lost in his thoughts that he fails to realize until they near the baggage carousel that Henry’s reached for your hand as well, now holding onto both of you. When he finally snaps back into reality, he glances over just in time to hear Henry asking about your favorite dinosaur just before he tells you what his is. Stegosaurus, he proudly exclaims, his head turning to look up at Charlie. It’s his turn now to answer, and admittedly, Charlie doesn’t know much about the subject. He hadn’t read up on it like you had.

Fuck.

He opts for the standard answer: T-Rex.

The remainder of your time at the airport goes swimmingly, with you and Henry chatting animatedly about dinosaurs and other topics, and Charlie taking it all in, doing his best to learn every new little detail about his son that he can. It isn’t until the three of you stuff yourselves into a cab that the conversation dies down for the time being, exhaustion finally taking over as Henry slumps down against Charlie, his head resting against his father’s arm, eyes fluttering closed. You and Charlie exchange glances, a smile gracing both of your features while the two of you remain silent, not wanting to disrupt Henry’s peaceful sleep. Charlie would love nothing more than to reach for you now, to take your hand in his, but he knows that now isn’t the time, not when Henry’s lying so comfortably against him. He turns his head to look out at the buildings as they pass by in a blur, and you do the same, taking in the sights of the city as the cab weaves its way through traffic, only stopping once it reaches its destination in Brooklyn.

“I’ll grab the bags and you can take Henry,” you whisper to Charlie once the cab rolls to a stop at the curb leading to his apartment building. He nods in acknowledgement, mouthing a ‘thank you’ just before you get out of the cab, rounding the vehicle to get the bags out of the trunk.

Charlie carefully maneuvers Henry until he’s held firmly in his arms, slipping out of the cab as slowly as he can, doing his best not to jostle his son too much. Henry adjusts himself against Charlie, his head resting against his father’s shoulder, one arm hanging limply at his side while the other drapes over Charlie’s other shoulder. With the bags in tow, and the fare paid, the three of you make your way inside the apartment building and up to Charlie’s home.

With the door now unlocked, you open the door to allow Charlie first entry, following close behind to set the bags down in the entryway. “I’m going to go,” you whisper, much to Charlie’s dismay. You can see the way his face falls, and you offer him a smile to counteract the sad expression.

“Let me put him to bed, give me a minute,” he responds. You nod, staying put in the apartment’s entryway while Charlie turns and disappears down the hallway to put Henry to bed.

It doesn’t take him long to return, and when he does, he still has the same sullen expression plastered onto his face. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay?” His hands find their way to your hips, drawing you closer, your smile widening when he does so.

Even still, your head shakes, one hand resting on his arm whilst the other lifts to gently caress his cheek. “You’ve got all the time in the world to spend with me. Spend today with Henry. Maybe tomorrow, if he’s feeling up to it, I can swing by and we can all go to the Natural History Museum and then grab a bite to eat.”

Charlie leans into your touch, hands now splayed across your back while he listens to you speak, a soft hum reverberating from deep within his chest. “I think he’d like that,” he replies, leaning in to steal a quick kiss.

You laugh softly against his mouth, pulling back to ask. “Him, or you?”

He smiles at your teasing tone. “Both.”

Another kiss is exchanged, this one lingering longer than the last. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you ask, to which Charlie nods.

“Stop by for breakfast?”

Another smile finds its way to your lips, heart warming at the thought as you nod. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”


	8. Antiquity

A light rap of knuckles against the door pulls Charlie's attention away from the book that sits in front of both he and Henry atop the kitchen table. Gone is the lesson that he and his son had been so engrossed in for the past half an hour, any hopes of Henry trying to read some more are dashed by the knock that comes from the other side of the door.

"She's here! She's here," Henry exclaims, moving faster than Charlie could ever hope to. Sliding off of his seat, he hurries away from the kitchen table and makes a mad dash for the door, wanting to be the first to greet you.

Rather than try and beat him to it, Charlie merely closes the book and busies himself by putting it away while Henry swings open the door with an overly excited grin. Albeit a bit muffled, Charlie can hear a quick exchange of hello's before Henry reaches for your hand in order to tug you inside. The soft click of the door sounds as you reach behind you to close it, and when Charlie finally makes his appearance at the end of the hall, it's to find you slipping off your shoes and placing them directly beside his and Henry's. For a moment, he finds himself thrown by the sight. It's mundane, it's domiciliary, it's...  _ It's... _

It's everything he's spent his nights dreaming of. Charlie's heart clenches at the sight as if some vice has gripped it tight, refusing to let go, and there is a growing lump that forms in his throat and makes it hard to swallow. When your head lifts, your eyes meet his and you give him a beaming smile; it's enough to send his heart stuttering. He thinks that, perhaps, he could picture the rest of his days like this—you coming home to him, Henry being here too. Never in Charlie's wildest dreams did he think he'd find this again, this sense of normalcy, of domestic bliss.

"Hi." Your voice is melodic to his very ears, and the volume at which you speak, though not loud by any stretch of the imagination, is enough to snap him from his reverie.

Charlie returns your smile whilst you peel off your jacket and hang it beside his on the coat rack. "Hi. You're just in time. Henry's finished his lessons this morning so I was just about to start breakfast." By now, Henry has migrated away from the door in order to move towards the living room so he can gather some of his favorite toys to show off to you. As he bypasses his father, Charlie lifts a hand to scruff his son's hair. Henry scoffs and ducks down to avoid the touch before darting further into the room, the action eliciting a laugh from both you and Charlie.

Breakfast passes by with an ease that Charlie hasn't experienced in a very long time. The conversation flows effortlessly; Henry is eager to speak to you about all of his grand plans involving the trip to the museum, and in the briefest moments where he manages to take a breath, Charlie discusses the plan for dinner—providing you'd still want to stick around after Henry has run you ragged with his dinosaur facts. There are smiles exchanged and laughter shared, and before long the plates are empty and the kitchen is clean, and you are once again bundled up in preparation for your trek to the American Museum of Natural History.

To say that it is cold would be putting it mildly. Even with the scarf that is pulled up to cover a portion of your face, the bitter wind-chill bites at what remains of the exposed portion of your face and elicits a chill that sends a shudder along your spine. Beside you, Charlie walks with Henry in his arms, his son clinging to him to obtain whatever warmth he's able through the thick layers of both his and his father's clothes. Thankfully, the walk from the 81st Street station to the museum's entrance takes no time at all, and soon enough, the three of you are met by the comforting, warm air of the building's interior.

"Do you think they'll have any new exhibits today?" Henry peers up at his father excitedly once Charlie's settled him back down onto his feet.

You watch as Charlie grins down at his son, deep ridges dimpling around the corners of his mouth when he does so. "'Course they do, honey. They're constantly rotating exhibits."

Inhaling an excited gasp, Henry turns to face you and reaches out to take hold of your hand. "C'mon, c'mon! I need to show you my favorites."

You look to Charlie who simply shrugs his shoulders and smiles as if to say 'go on', and with a smile of your own, you follow Henry's lead whilst Charlie stays behind momentarily in order to pay for entry into the museum. Small feet pitter-patter further into the building with your own steps following close behind. The first stop is also one that proves to be rather impressive: the Hall of Ocean Life. Each wall houses a diorama of some kind ranging from a coral reef display to one depicting dolphins and tuna swimming alongside one another. Looming overhead, its presence impossible to ignore, is a ninety-four foot long model of a blue whale, which is suspended from the ceiling.

“Woah,” you can’t help but utter in absolute awe at the enormity of it.

Henry laughs, and when you look down at him, he flashes a large grin up at you. “Cool, huh?”

You nod and he squeezes your hand a little tighter. “Very.”

When Charlie steps into the room, he finds both you and Henry still clasping hands as the two of you stand before the Walrus exhibit. From this distance, he can  _ just _ make out the string of sentences that Henry is spewing. In typical fashion, he’s telling you all the facts he’s learned over the years about walruses. You indulge him, listening to every bit of information he tells you, nodding and smiling at all the appropriate points. It even appears that you might  _ actually _ be interested in what he’s telling you, and that realization alone sends Charlie’s heart aflutter.

“Did you know that walruses can live up to forty years in the wild,” you ask.

Henry’s nose scrunches as if to show that he’s considering this new bit of information that you’ve bestowed upon him. “So you mean that if my dad was a walrus, he’d be dead by now?”

The laughter that tears its way out from you is immediate, though you’re quick to cover your mouth with a hand. “I heard that,” Charlie says as he nears, drawing Henry’s attention. “And I’m not  _ that _ old…”

Charlie’s gaze shifts to you, the corners of his mouth curling upward as you continue to laugh.

The remainder of the museum’s exploration carries on like this, Henry telling you everything he knows about each exhibit, and you countering with random facts here and there. Charlie chips in occasionally, offering his own thoughts and throwing in a joke every now and again that makes Henry’s eyes roll and sends you into yet another fit of laughter. The trip is concluded with, as you’ve come to find out, the traditional trip to the gift shop; Henry never leaves the museum empty-handed.

On the walk back to the subway station, Charlie reaches for your hand, interlocking his fingers with your own whilst he carries Henry with his other arm. Not even the chill of a cold November afternoon could ward off the warmth of this very moment. “Do you have plans for Thursday,” you ask curiously, your head turning to look over at Charlie. For a moment, he looks puzzled, as if he’s unsure of where you’re taking this. You smile, because  _ of course _ he’d forgotten. “Thanksgiving,” you remind him.

Charlie’s eyes widen momentarily, and you know if Henry had not been in his grasp, let alone in his immediate vicinity, he would have let a curse or two slip. “No… No, we don’t have any plans.”

“Can you come over,” Henry pipes up from over his father’s shoulder. “We can have turkey and mashed potatoes and all that yummy stuff. Just like we used to, right dad?” Henry sighs heavily and rests his head back down on Charlie’s shoulder. “G-ma tries, but her food’s just not as good. I miss it.”

For a moment, Charlie is silent, and you can almost  _ see _ the way the gears in his mind are working overtime to come up with a way for you to get out of it should you so desire.

But you don’t. Of course you don’t. That was precisely why you’d asked in the first place.

“If it isn’t too much trouble—”

“It isn’t,” Charlie says quickly, almost  _ too _ quickly. “I, uh, I just mean if you wanted to come, maybe we could have a proper Thanksgiving dinner. I’m a bit rusty, haven’t had a reason to make such a feast in a long time, but maybe…”

A smile stretches across your features, and you give his hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance.

“Don’t worry. I’ll help.”

**Author's Note:**

> My little one shot ‘Angel of the Morning’ inspired me to write this fic. I’ve got plans to make it multi-chapter (with currently no set limit in mind as to how many chapters it will be).


End file.
